Blood Drenched Roses
by ParanoiaPoliticianDiva77
Summary: Christine Daae lives a life of happiness with her family in Sweden but in the Winter of 1870 she visits her Aunt in Paris. There Christine is pulled into something that she cannot face. She flees to find something so much better thst it is even worse. AU
1. Chapter One

Christine smiled, holding her mint-green mask to her face, pinning it firmly on as the carriage came to a halt outside the Opera Garnier, pink and gold fireworks illuminating the area.

She looked across to her cousin and aunt; Marguerite and Antoinette Giry. Marguerite (whom preferred to be called Meg) looked beautiful, wearing a white beaded mask and her long golden hair pinned up. She wore a white dress and angel wings, her costume suiting her perfectly.

The three of them were going to the Annual New Years Masquerade at the Opera Garnier. Meg was the current Prima Ballerina just like her mother once was many years ago. Antoinette was now the ballet mistress and had gained respect from everyone in the company.

Christine stepped out of the carriage, taking the offered hand of the butler and gazed happily about the crowded paved area that lay before the world-renowned Opera Garnier.

Masqueraders crowded the square, gossiping, laughing and pointing at the shattering fireworks, gypsies, kings, princesses and villains filling the vicinity.

Christine wore a floating chiffon dress, layered with many different shades of green and yellow. She was a wood nymph, a fairy of the forest and her dark brown curls trailed down her back with green pearls strung through the tresses.

Aunt Antoinette was in an exotic oriental dress and was holding a large black fan. Her dress was covered in black and gold designs, intricately woven, her long hair piled up into a bun secured with two long black pins.

"Ah Madame Giry! You look exceptionally stunning! And darling Marguerite, dressed like the angel you are; I never saw you look finer" cried Monsieur Lefevre, the manager of the Opera Garnier. His wife smiled at them, a tall regal looking lady with pale ivory skin, black hair and blue eyes.

"Monsieur Lefevre, truly a pleasure" Madame Giry said wryly and Lefevre's gaze fell upon Christine.

"And who is your friend Marguerite?" he asked and Christine blushed, not used to the high society her aunt and cousin kept.

"This is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé, my brother Gustaf's eldest daughter and my niece. She has come to Paris with the intention of staying with us for the winter. Normally she lives with her family in Sweden" Madame Giry said smiling as Lefevre kissed Christine's hand.

"Enchanté Mademoiselle. If you don't min my asking what is your age?" he asked politely and Christine blushed with the attention.

"Sixteen years Monsieur, there is mere months between Meg and myself" she said quietly and he smiled.

"And do you have a date with you?" inquired the manager and Christine shook her head, her dark curls bouncing with the movement.

"Non Monsieur"

"Well then we must find you one" he exclaimed and turned, beckoning a man over. He wore a full-face mask half black half white and wore a dinner suit.

"Monsieur Lefevre how you do throw a wondrous party" exclaimed the man, eying Christine's young prettiness.

"Merci Axel, please; this is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé from Sweden. Christine this is Axel Debienne, son of a previous manager" Monsieur Lefevre introduced them as Axel leant forward and kissed Christine's hand.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance" Axel said smoothly and took her hand to lead her into the ballroom of the Opera House.

Soon she was swept into a dance circulating through the ballroom, her green dress swishing through the prominent colours of black, white and gold. She made small talk with Axel, flirting slightly as she overcame her initial shyness, his hands holding her small frame.

But as that dance ended another man approached Christine and expressed his wish to dance with her.

He was the Vicomte Raoul De Chagny, heir to one of the wealthiest and most influential families of Europe. He was handsome and charming enough with his lovely blue eyes and short blonde hair but Christine felt as if he were merely another one of the many handsome faces flirting with her that night.

Dance after dance, man after man, Christine felt weary and finally quitted the dance floor, quite out of breath as she sat down with Meg as the clock ticked its way towards midnight when 1870 would be no more and they would bring in a New Year.

"I've danced with eleven men; you?" Meg panted, lifting a glass of cool champagne to her lips, pulling off her white mask and placing it on the table.

"Twelve I think; I lost my enthusiasm by the ninth" Christine sighed, gulping down her glass of red wine as he wiped the sweat from her brow.

"May I please have the pleasure of helping you regain your enthusiasm by being number thirteen?" came a deep smooth voice and she turned to see a man with his hand outstretched to her. 

"I guess as it is only minutes till midnight," she agreed, taking his hand and staring up at his unusual mask.

It was a creamy white; the white of bones and it covered his face from his widow's peak hairline to his top lip. It was skull-like and slightly eerie, his eyes blackened with makeup making him resemble death itself. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore a tailcoat and black suit, even his shirt was black.

"Pray tell me; what is your name Mademoiselle?" he asked as the dance began and she bit her lip nervously as the cold touch of leather shivered through her hands; he was wearing black leather gloves.

"Christine Daaé, and you monsieur?" she asked as a strange feeling clutched her stomach with nerves; she had not felt like this with any of the men she had danced with so far.

"Erik, Erik Destler" he answered smoothly and quickly added "Erik with a K; I cannot stand the vulgar spelling with a C" he said mockingly and Christine giggled as he impersonated some of the picky high society she had danced with.

"Well I'm pleased to meet you Erik with a K," she agreed and he nodded and then frowned at her.

"If you don't mind my asking but where are you from; I cannot place your accent but you're surely not French?" he said thoughtfully and she smiled knowing her Swedish accent had been softened after years of gruelling French lessons.

"If you please sir I am Swedish Monsieur Destler, my accent is just somewhat diminished after years of French lessons" she said and he smiled.

"Ah yes, I understand perfectly. Now; you would think I'm completely French wouldn't you?" he asked and she nodded her head, wondering where he was leading her to.

"Oui"

"Well I'll tell you now that while my family was fully French I grew up in Persia and spoke both French and Persian perfectly well by age six" he said and her eyes widened.

"Persia?" she said wondrously and he nodded.

"Yes, but then we travelled across Europe until we settled in Paris when I was ten years old. When I was seventeen I journeyed back to Persia and stayed there for ten years, I have infact spent nearly half my life there and yet most believe that I am a pure Parisian" he said and she smiled, wishing to hear what it was like living in such strange and foreign countries.

"What was it like in the East?" she asked eagerly and he proceeded to tell her of Romanian Gypsies, Persian markets, Arabian folklore and the Shah's vicious bloodthirsty court.

As the dance ended another started; a slower, more of a waltz dance number with a solo violin playing.

Christine stared up into Erik's sparkling green eyes and took his gloved hand, stepping into the dance so easily while her stomach churned nervously with butterflies at his touch.

As the time edged towards midnight Christine took less and less notice of those dancing around the until she and Erik were dancing in the same square foot in the middle of the room, unwilling to move their eyes anywhere but upon each other.

Erik watched her as she moved to the music, twirling and dipping. _She was very beautiful and sweet too,_ he thought to himself, _but I won't ever see her again after tonight; I wish I had not come._

Soon it was as if they were the only two people dancing, her staring up at his mask of death, wondering what he looked like while he stared down at her loveliness, from her high cheekbones to her wide chocolate brown eyes and her matching long curls that trailed down her back. She was only sixteen and he was more than twice her age, yet holding her hand made him feel younger than he'd felt in years.

The music ended beautifully as they were left staring one another, inches from each other's body, silent as they stared into each other's eyes, dying to lean slightly more forward…to feel the others lips against their own…

"Cinq!" shouted the conductor of the orchestra, Monsieur Reyer and everyone turned to face him as they counted down the last seconds of the year.

"Mesdames et Messieurs when the clock strikes midnight remove your partners mask to celebrate the New Year!" cried Monsieur Lefevre as Monsieur Reyer shouted "Quatre"

Christine turned, smiling, to the staircase, cheering with the crowd as they counted down the last moments. She went to grab Erik's hand but could not and frowned with confusion.

"Deux!"

Christine turned and looked to where Erik had previously been; he was not to be seen in the nearby crowd. She stood on her tiptoes and gazed around the crowd, unable to see him anywhere, unable to move through the crowded masses.

Meg stood with a young man who was gazing at her with desire and Madame Giry stood with a distinguished looking man, a few years her senior.

Everyone had a partner.

Except for Christine.

"Un! Happy New Year Paris!"

Everyone tore off their partners masks and laughed and gasped about what handsome faces now gazed back at them, some clapping, some kissing and some laughing as the bells of the Notre Dame echoed throughout the city, ringing in 1871.

Christine looked around herself awkwardly, unsure of what a girl should do when alone at the turn of a New Year.

Where did he go?


	2. Chapter Two

**_Chapter Two_**

"Christine! Please; who was that man you were dancing with before midnight? Pray do tell!" Meg cried, reaching her cousin as the celebrations subsided as the clock ticked towards one o'clock. Christine looked up at her, after drinking her third glass of champagne, a blank look on her face.

"A Monsieur Erik Destler" she said, remembering his insistence over the proper spelling of his Christian name.

"Well I haven't heard of him; is he of wealth?" Meg asked, sitting down at the table as she waved to Raoul De Chagny, whom she had been dancing with for the past hour or so, and giggled "He's so handsome that Raoul"

"I don't know," Christine said, suddenly realising she knew hardly anything about the man she had failed to unmask.

"Well what family is he from; surely some high society?" Meg asked impatiently, still smiling at Raoul who was making faces at her, begging her to rejoin him on the dance floor.

"I don't know…" Christine said blankly then remembered something "He's lived in Persia" she exclaimed and Meg frowned, shaking her head at Christine.

"What difference does that make? Surely you must know of his position in society; I have not heard of the Destler's before" she said frowning as she poured a glass of white wine.

"We really didn't talk about such things, it was more _real_" Christine said, watching the dancers tiresomely, tired and confused about Erik and where he had gone.

"What do you mean real? What does he do for a living?" Meg asked irksomely, getting frustrated by her airy cousins blank face and lack of memory.

"Music; he's a composer" Christine suddenly said, remembering Erik telling her about his music and asking her if she sung. She had blushed at this remembering Christmas at which her father forced her to sing for the family. Christine was exceedingly scared of singing in front of people, even her parents, and got into a screaming argument with her father on many occasions when he wished her to sing for his friends. She was an amazing singer and something in her knew that, but she was so entirely scared of the embarrassment that would come if she sang badly, how ashamed she would feel that she refused to sing for anyone.

"Composer? Has he composed any operas or ballets I might've heard of?" Meg asked, slightly dissatisfied that at the chance of associating herself with the likes of English Dukes and Russian Counts Christine had gone for the middle class composer who possibly owned only one good suit.

"I don't think so, he didn't tell me much about his work except that he's been working on an opera for the past twenty years; Don Juan Triumphant" Christine said airily, watching the dancers with great concentration as she sipped at her glass of Champagne.

"But there's already an opera about Don Juan; Don Giovanni by Mozart. A smart composer would choose something new and different" Meg said with one eyebrow raised and Christine shrugged.

"Think what you liked, all I know is that he disappeared before I had the chance to unmask him" Christine sighed exasperatedly and Meg smiled, beckoning Monsieur Lefevre over to the table.

"Monsieur Lefevre, I was wondering if you could help my cousin and I. Christine was dancing with a man earlier but I have not heard of him before; Monsieur Erik Destler-do you know him?" Meg asked and Christine suddenly butted in.

"With a K" she said and the two looked at her quizzically "Erik…it's spelt with a K, that's what he told me" she said quietly, going pink with embarrassment as Lefevre frowned.

"I do not remember inviting a Monsieur Erik with a K Destler to my ball, I have never heard of him," he said in confusion, biting his lip as he attempted to remember those he invited "Now I remember inviting an Émile Deveraux and an Evrard Dossenchaulé but no Erik with a K Destler" He said, scanning his eyes over the dancing crowd, as if trying to spot the forgotten partier.

"But that doesn't make sense, I-" Christine began to say but stopped suddenly as she pulled her hand from a pocket in her dress and looked at the piece of paper in her hand; an envelope she had never seen before in her life.

"What is that Christine?" Meg asked and Christine shrugged, never having seen the sealed envelope before.

"I don't know, I didn't put it in my pocket that's for sure" she said, and she began to read the address. "It's for you Monsieur Lefevre" she said handing it to him and his eyes widened at the messy scrawl in red ink. He flipped the envelope over and saw the seal was in the shape of a red waxy skull. Meg and Lefevre gasped and Christine looked to Meg quizzically.

"What is it Meg?" she asked as Meg raised a gloved hand to her mouth as she whispered something.

"It's the Opera Ghost! I thought he had left…its been six months" she whispered and Christine looked at her cousin in confusion as Lefevre read the letter.

"What do you mean by Opera Ghost?" she asked but Meg shook her head and Lefevre began to read the letter aloud.

"It's about the new production of Don Giovanni" he said and began to read the letter aloud "Fondest Greetings to you all, a few instructions just before rehearsal starts. Carlotta must be taught to act not her normal trick of strutting around the stage, our Don Giovanni must lose some weight; it's not healthy for a man of Piangis age. And my manager must learn that his job is to cast the talented, not the dreadful. I advise you to comply my instructions should be clear; remember I could always drop that grand chandelier" Lefevre stopped and gulped, mopping his brow as he continued, "I remain your obedient servant O.G"

"Carlotta will have a fit if she hears those insults against her!" Meg exclaimed, referring to the current Prima Donna of the Opera, Carlotta Giudicelli. Lefevre sighed as he read through the note again.

"This damned ghost has been sucking me dry for money for the past three years; apparently previous managers have had the same issues. We always received notes from him with orders for casting and tips for improvement but for the past six months we haven't received a single note" he sighed, explaining the situation to Christine who looked at them sceptically.

"Surely you don't really believe it's an actual ghost? Surely its just a man taking advantage of your superstition?" she said incredulously but Meg shook her head and Lefevre sighed.

"I was very cynical of the ghost when I bought the Opera Garnier a few years back, I was determined to catch him in his box or receiving his salary. You see-he threatens death and destruction when you don't pay his salary of twenty thousand francs or leave box five empty for his use. When I first refused him we found our Chief stagehand Joseph Buquet dead with a note attached to him, warning me against crossing the Opera Ghost." Lefevre said as Madame Giry approached the table, sitting down and sighing as she realised what they were talking about.

"The Opera Ghost?" she asked and he nodded "Surely it isn't that much of a hassle for you to reserve one box?"

"That's the easy part; but the salary? He's going to leave me bankrupt; I always feel sick when I receive these damned notes" Lefevre sighed and Madame Giry looked at Meg and Christine's tired face.

"I think that's enough Ghost stories for Christine tonight; I think we shall be leaving for home. I'll see you when rehearsals start up again next week" Madame Giry said, standing as Lefevre kissed her cheek and the two girls stood, exhausted from the dancing and festivities.

"Au revoirs Monsieur Lefevre" Meg said, curtseying and Christine did the same as he sighed and walked away, now worried by the note and the Opera ghosts threatening presence.

* * *

"Christine?" whispered Meg, hours later as she held a candle and shook her cousin awake. Christine sat up and groaned as the candle flickered in the darkened room, squinting at Meg.

"What is it Meg?" she asked, yawning as she wiped the sleep from her eyes and Meg set down the candle upon her nightstand.

"I couldn't sleep Chris, can I hop in?" she asked. Christine nodded, patting her bed and Meg climbed in, yawning as she did and hints of the first light of day peaked through the curtains.

"What's on your mind Meg?" Christine asked sleepily, snuggling down into the warm blankets as Meg made herself comfortable.

"I don't know, the note from the Opera Ghost is worrying me; this is the third time he's threatened to bring the chandelier down upon the stalls audience" Meg said and Christine yawned.

"Why do you fear him?" Christine asked and Meg bit her lip before continuing.

"The old Chief scene shifter, Maurice Finnellé, had seen him a few times before. And note that Maurice was a serious, sober and steady man, very slow at imagining things. He saw the ghost once in the cellars, for a mere moment before the thing had darted away. Maurice said 'He is thin though you can see remnants of once broad shoulders and strength but now his dress cloak hangs upon him like a skeleton. His left side was fine but as the ghost turned you could see his right side was a face of pure death; his eye set deeply in his dark socket, his skin, stretched across his bones like a drum head, is not white but a nasty sickening yellow. As he turned I could see this nasty yellow skin bubbled and turned redder and soon you could see a large gash in the skin over his right ear, a burst of pulsing veins and reddened tight skin. His nose crumbles down upon his right side as if he was mutilated over and over again. All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears" Meg recounted Finnellé's description and Christine shivered at the depiction.

"What has he done before?" she asked and Meg shuddered, remembering.

"Well, in June we performed Il Muto by Albrizzio. Carlotta was the lead though the Opera Ghost had demanded we find a new Prima Donna. She was singing her first aria when suddenly her voice snapped and croaked like a toad." Meg said and giggled slightly, remembering how amusing it had been at the time. "She tried to sing again but could not stop croaking until she was sobbing and screaming, the croaks reappearing as the audience bellowed with laughter. Suddenly the chandelier started to rock back and forth, the lights flickering out as a bellowing voice echoed manically through the theatre announcing that Carlotta was singing to bring down the chandelier. As Carlotta ran off Lefevre announced that the performance would continue in ten minutes time and in the meantime we would perform the ballet from Act Three. As I was completing my solo this shadow of a man appeared onstage and we all grew frightened, some of the girls falling off point and Jammes twisted her ankle. The shadow grew larger as I began a par de deux with the male soloist until suddenly a body fell on a noose from the rafters above where the scene shifters worked." She said fearfully and Christine's eyes widened.

"Oh my goodness," she gasped and Meg nodded.

"It was the body of Maurice Finnellé, a scene shifter. He fell and was hanged right next to me and I screamed and fainted. All the ballerina's rushed to my mother as Lefevre tried to control the terrified crowd. We didn't hear from the Opera Ghost again until tonight" Meg whispered in terror and Christine hugged her frightened cousin.

"Don't worry, it'll be fine" she reassured her but Meg shook her head.

"But Christine; what if it's me next time?"

Christine awoke an hour later and felt wide-awake, unable to go back to sleep after all that Meg had told her. She got up and walked to her window, looking out over the glittering lights of Paris as the sun slowly came up.

Christine frowned as she felt something underneath her foot. She bent over and picked up a piece of paper with messy red scrawl across it;

'_Christine,_

_I am sorry I left you like that, _

_I should never have left a girl by herself _

_At the stroke of midnight on New Years_

_Twas very ungentle manly to do so_

_Meet me at the Notre Dame this afternoon at three thirty_

_Come Alone_

_Yours sincerely_

_Erik C Destler'_

Christine smiled to herself at this, wondering what she should wear.

Not taking time to connect the similarities between the Opera Ghosts handwriting and Erik's.

* * *

Erik sighed, looking in the mirror and straightening his half face white mask and black wig.

_Face it-this is as good as its going to get_

He looked over to the table upon which he had a red rose with a black ribbon tied about it. Erik had picked it that morning from the rose bushes that lined the gardens outside the Opera Garnier.

He turned back to the gilded mirror and set about straightening his grey lounge suit and black tie.

_I cannot believe you left her that note; she won't want to see you again if she ever sees you unmasked…_

Erik glanced to the swan shaped bed he had carved many years ago and instantly saw Christine lying in it peacefully. He shook his head, letting go of the vision and looked up to see the empty bed.

* * *


	3. Chapter Three

Christine walked nervously down the streets of Paris, away from Antoinette and Meg who were in a boutique getting Meg measured for a new dress. She had told them she wanted to walk the streets a bit more and see more of Paris.

As the girl neared the Notre Dame she wondered what he would look like unmasked; would he be handsome? Plain? Ugly? Though she wondered about these things she knew that in the end it really didn't matter; he had truly been charming the night before and she hadn't needed to see his face to see his sweet personality.

Christine remembered meeting a certain Karl Van Döurine, a student of her fathers few years older than her and remembered thinking he was so handsome. Of course when Karl came by and Gustaf was out he cornered Christine, whispering naughty suggestions in her ear as she struggled from his grasp.

Christine remembered his shocked exclamation of 'whore' when she hit him and told him to please leave otherwise she would tell her father. She remembered the way he had looked at her hungrily and the way he had assumed that because she was a pretty daughter of a middle class musician that perhaps she was a loose woman, uncaring about where her maidenhead went.

Christine knew what is was like to be judged by looks and what a blow it felt to have relatives think nothing more of her because she was pretty; she could surely not be smart? She must be a naughty girl who lures the boys in, Christine remembered hearing her Great Aunt Helene say when she assumed Christine was not listening, not a thought within her pretty head.

Christine reached the beautiful cathedral and gazed up at the spires and the flying buttresses and remembered reading Victor Hugo's _'La Notre Dame De Paris'_. Her French tutor gave her the thick book and asked her to read it for her French progress and though it took her many months to get through the language she ended up adoring the book, reading it many times afterwards.

Now as she gazed up at the stunningly amazing piece of gothic architecture Christine couldn't help feel a surge of excitement that she was finally here standing before the cathedral.

Suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder and she turned to see a man with half a white leather mask fitted over the right side of his face. He smiled nervously and bit his lip, holding out a red rose with a black ribbon tied about it.

Christine frowned, wondering as she accepted the rose; why is he wearing a mask?

"Christine…" he said, smiling and she bobbed a small curtsey, as she smelt the long stemmed red rose; the scent was divine.

"Monsieur Destler I presume?" she asked and he held out his hands as if to say 'who else could it be?'

"The very same" he said jovially and she looked at his grey lounge suit and loose black tie around his white shirt; so casual and relaxed. It was something she had not envisioned him wearing; the idea of him in his entirely black tails suit the night before looked so perfect in her mind that the only other thing she could see was maybe a long black cloak to go over it.

"I was just admiring the Notre Dame; it is so very beautiful, don't you think?" she said, pointing to the cathedral and he waved his hand flippantly, knowing there was a better place in Paris.

"Quasimodo had it tough living there…it is not a true Parisian Paradise…truly quite overrated in my opinion" he said, thinking of his beautiful Opera Garnier and wondered briefly about the true Quasimodo; how could he have possibly felt the need to live? The hunchback was deaf; what in the world was left for him without the beauty of music?

"What would make you say that? Surely seems a marvel; come on? Tell me; where would you have suggested Quasimodo live ey?" Christine joked as they began to walk around the outside of the cathedral and Erik chuckled.

"The Paris Opera House perhaps?" he suggested and Christine scrunched up her face in apprehension.

"That place?" she began as he raised an eyebrow; she didn't know if the other was raised, as truly, you could not see it with the mask on.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked slightly defensively, thinking sweetly of his home as she smiled.

"I don't know; I guess you like it being a composer and all but it somewhat gives me the chills" Christine said and Erik looked a little queasy, knowing exactly why it might've given her the chills after all the Opera Ghost stories bloody Meg told her.

"Why? Surely you don't believe in those silly Opera Ghost stories?" he asked and she shot a look at him.

"Do you?" she snapped and he shrugged.

"Well surely it isn't a real ghost; it's all such silliness really" He said and it was now her turn to raise one eyebrow.

"Silliness? Meg told me he's killed people," she said seriously and Erik realised he didn't feel too fabulous as a lump entered his throat. He had never felt any guilt or emotion except satisfaction over the murders he had committed until this girl came along, and now, all he felt was shame.

"I feel whoever's doing it must be a little…unhinged" Erik said delicately, trying to cover up his moment's uneasiness as he spotted a seat and went to sit upon it. Christine followed him and sat next to him.

For the next hour they talked deeply about Paris, the stupidity of high society, how asinine the English truly were, what Opera's they fancied and who they had seen perform, what books they had read and which authors and styles they preferred.

It was only when the daylight began to disappear over the horizon did Christine realise the time and how cold it had gotten. She stood, shivering as snowflakes began to fall and Erik stood and called a hansom.

As they sat in the carriage Erik stared at her rosy cheeks and pink nose, flushed from the sudden chilly breeze and how pretty she looked with her hair tied back with slight tendrils springing out of place. Christine was wearing a periwinkle blue dress with a matching muff and lace upon the sleeves, corseted firmly but not so she was gasping for breath.

She noticed him looking at her and she smiled, realising that after the initial shock she hadn't even noticed the mask the entire time.

"I've hardly noticed that all this time" she said, pointing to the hard white mask and he raised his hand up protectively to his face. "I didn't mean to offend it's just, it seems to sort of blend in with you…I don't think I'm making any sense am I?" she apologised and he shook his head.

"No, no, I'm surprised you haven't tried to pull it off" he said and she shrugged.

"If you wanted it off you wouldn't wear it" she said simply and he smiled, liking the girl a whole lot more.

* * *

"Please stop" Christine called out and the carriage came to a stop outside the apartment building where the Girys apartment was.

Erik helped her out of the carriage and she smiled, tingling as her hand touched his gloved one, still holding her rose carefully, snowflakes sprinkling across the deep red petals.

"Christine…I was wondering" Erik said slowly, staring at his feet. He wondered what was the matter with him? he was normally impulsive and proud, but then again he never interacted with women like this.

"Yes?" she asked hopefully, wondering what was going to come.

"If you would give me the pleasure of courting you?" he spat out finally, and her eyes widened and she nodded.

"Of course" she said and suddenly his lips were pressed against hers and she melted as his hand glanced her side.

But soon he was gone, walking fast down the street, cursing himself for being impulsive.

As usual.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

One week had passed and yet Christine still grinned madly, waking each morning humming happily to a tune she did not even recollect as she gazed out of her window into the snow covered city. She wondered where he lived as he had only ever taken her out three times to cafés and walks around Paris. But he had never mentioned where he lived nor what his family was like. The more and more Christine thought about it the more she realised she hardly knew anything about him.

"Christine; A Monsieur Destler is at the door asking for you" came the smooth gliding voice of their housekeeper, Beatrice, who was standing at the entrance to her room.

Christine froze; Erik had not called by the house before and Aunt Giry didn't know about their courtship yet. She did not know how Aunt Giry would react to her being courted by a man twice her age; she wasn't even sure if she felt right about it yet.

"Thankyou Beatrice, show him into the parlour and I will meet him there in twenty seconds" Christine said stiffly, powdering her cheeks with rouge as Beatrice bobbed a curtsey and left to instruct Erik.

Christine frowned; she was wearing her pink dress with the gold ribbon. She tugged on the corset and sighed, she really did hate pink but Aunt Giry said it suited her so she clenched her chin and wore it. Her hands worked smoothly, pinning her hair in place with long metal pins, biting her lip nervously.

Finally Christine slipped on her shoes and entered the parlour to see her Aunt staring in horror at Erik standing horrified at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here you fool?" she growled and he looked in confusion from Christine to Madame Giry, unable to believe the coincidence.

"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, swishing his cloak around himself protectively as his wide green eyes darted across the room in disbelief.

"Erik please leave my home, my niece Christine is supposed to be going out soon and I don't want any awkward questions-" she began but Christine spoke up.

"Ma Tante I am right behind you. I am going out with Erik, he's taking me to lunch, I was planning to tell you at the right time…" she trailed off as Madame Giry turned in shock to see Christine with her arms folded.

"Christine" she said in a silkily smooth voice, trembling with anger and disbelief "I wish to have a private word with Monsieur Destler for a moment. Please return to your room upstairs to fix yourself up-you appear to only be wearing one earring"

Christine frowned in bewilderment and her hand reached for her right ear, the earlobe empty. She looked at her aunt strangely before turning on her heel and going upstairs, wondering what in the world was going on.

Closing the door Antoinette Giry turned on Erik who was now quivering with anticipation of the storm that would erupt from her, knowing the woman too well.

"Erik! What the devil are you doing taking my niece out?" She roared, the black cane in her hand trembling against the floor as she stamped it.

"How in the name of Lucifer was I supposed to know she's your niece? You haven't talked to me properly for years and since you and Meg moved out of the opera house it's been hard work finding anything out" he said calmly but Antoinette's face grew stormy.

"Oh please Erik, there was once a time where you would roam the entire of Paris, listening in to the conversation of the aristocrats and the ranting of the poor. Now you don't even have the guts to find out about the girl you're falling for's family. She's only sixteen Erik and you're thirty-seven…and live underneath an opera house" Antoinette said fiercely and Erik sighed dejectedly, knowing his friend was right.

"I know, I know it's wrong, but…she's different. I never really ever felt like this before; you were my friend, my mother I hardly knew. Those are the only women I've ever known properly in my life…Christine" he sighed and put his head in his hands, his spindly fingers tracing the outline of his mask "She's something different, something special. I could not imagine a world without that girl"

Antoinette softened; she had never seen Erik like this before. Not in all the years of their friendship nor the years of her looking after the pretty young girls of the ballet had Erik ever mentioned a liking for a woman. It was almost as if he couldn't feel such a romantic feeling…until now.

"Erik…does she know? Has she seen?" She said quietly, moving gently towards his figure on the couch, sliding to sit next to the crumpled figure.

"Does she know what? That I'm a serial killer who lives under an opera house? No…not yet" he said and she shook her head.

"What are you getting yourself into you lovesick fool?"

* * *

Christine ripped off her pink dress and threw it upon the bed, unable to look at the damned colour in the mirror any longer. She opened her wardrobe and skimmed through the dresses until she found a lemon yellow dress. Calling for her maid to help her get into the different dress Christine began to repin her hair, up off her shoulders in a French twist, the way her mother Josephine always wore it.

"Christine?" Came Aunt Girys voice, the door opening slowly as Christine finished her hair and pinned a yellow silk ribbon to the coil of tresses.

"Oui ma Tante?" she asked and Aunt Giry smiled.

"Are you going out with Erik still? It'll have to be a late lunch. You look lovely in that yellow dress" her aunt smiled at her and Christine wondered curiously about what had changed her aunt's previous angry demeanour.

"Oui"

* * *

Christine and Erik sat at a table in a café along the main street of the city, admiring the view and the collection of people that walked by. She sipped her tea delicately as he drank a glass of port, looking at her, wondering if he should continue the relationship or not. She was beautiful and he adored her already, but he was unsure of whether the relationship would amount to anything, or would she care for him in the same way.

Christine stared at him as his eyes darkened, darting around with insecurities and she frowned; they were supposed to be happy, out together.

"Erik, please what is the matter?" she asked, placing her hand upon his gloved one and he shuddered at her touch. His eyes looked up at her fondly and he brushed her cheek with his other hand.

"It's nothing, I was just…nothing," he said quietly and Christine stood, beckoning him to come with her.

They walked along the streets of Paris, silent with their arms entwined with each other's, the both of them staring straight ahead, avoiding the topic. Erik bit his lip nervously and fidgeted with his watch in his cloak pocket, flipping it open and closed.

"Christine…I just don't understand how this is going to work, you're so very young and I'm…" he began and she turned to him, perplexed at his worried sad look and fidgeting hands.

"What do you mean? I have friends who are to be married-you cannot possibly say I am too young. Is that what you think of me-that I'm a mere child?" her voice quivered with hurt and Erik shook his head.

"No, no of course not darling. It's just you're young and deserve someone better than an old poor composer" he began but she cut him off with her trilling laughter.

"Do you think I care about that? Do you think I want some silly boy who'll run off with the next lamb he sees? I chose to see you because I like you Erik and I know what I want. Please don't demean yourself with such nonsense" she laughed and he smiled at her young laughter and sparkling eyes.

"Is that how you really feel?" he asked uncertainly and she nodded, grinning like a fool.

"Is that what you thought? That I was too good for you? Oh Erik-you know I wake up every day wondering if you'll come to your senses about me, that you could find a better woman-" she explained and he shook his head, a smile creeping upon his face as he leant down and pressed his soft lips against hers.

They kissed as the snow began to fall and Christine trembled at his adoring touch, his hands shaking at her waist and neck, his mouth moving perfectly in time with her own, kissing her with a passion she hadn't seen before.

"Christine, I love you" he said, trembling as he pulled away from the loving embrace and she smiled, placing her hand on his cheek.

"I love you Erik"

* * *


End file.
